Page 22 of The Season
The space between the kitchen and the main entrance is narrow, already crowded with the table and chairs, and nearly blocked off by Eddie and Seth glaring silently at each other on one side, and Matty fumbling with his boots on the other. Which means Liam ends up pressing flush against me to get to the front door.
For a brief moment, I can feel the heat of his body against my own, his breath warm where it ghosts across the nape of my neck, the scent of fresh linen filling my nostrils. I shiver, blinking in surprise at the answering warmth coiling low in my belly.
I cast Liam a wary look, plastering on a smile as I turn to follow him, praying that my blush fades before we get to the car.
Because of course I would get those feelings now, after a year of feeling nothing. And of course, my untimely attraction would be aimed at my coach-turned-roommate—a person who is not only completely off-limits, but who actively frowns each time he sees me.
I shake my head at the ridiculousness of it. Hopefully a day in the snow is enough to chill whatever plans my stunted libido is brewing.
Chapter7
Liam
“Right, change of plan,” I tell my class as I trudge out to the lineup, the thick layer of fresh powder squeaking beneath my snowboard boots. Lily and Matty are close on my heels, and I can hear their breathless pants as they struggle to keep pace with me. “It’s a powder day.”
The cluster of students waiting for me stare blankly, fresh snow gathering on their helmets and the shoulders of their jackets. I give an impatienttsk, and wave one hand toward the chairlift. Already, blue sky is peeking through the clouds, the snowfall slowing. Another fifteen minutes at most, and then it’s going to be a bluebird powder day.
“We’re heading up to Jupiter lift,” I explain brusquely, because really, it should be fucking obvious. “We’re going to get some fresh tracks this morning.”
Half of the guys’ faces light up with excitement, the other half stare at me with dazed confusion. Matty, of course, is one of the confused ones.
“What do you mean, fresh tracks?” he asks.
I don’t answer. They’ll figure it out.
* * *
Three chairlifts later,and we’re strapping in at the highest point of the resort.
“I’ve never been up here,” someone muses. “You can see into the other canyon from here.”
“Yah, dude,” Akiva says, chest puffing up with the confidence of someone who knows absolutely nothing, “that’s Brighton.”
“Actually, it’s Snowbird,” I tell him flatly, bending to tighten my bindings. “Brighton is down that way.”
“No, it’s not,” he argues.
I straighten, cocking my head and fixing him with a stare. Is this guy fucking serious?
“I’m from here,” he continues, giving me what he probably thinks is a congenial smile—all white teeth and gums. “I know what Brighton looks like.”
I lift a brow, but he probably can’t see it behind my goggles.
“Show of hands,” I say, turning to the other students. “Who has ridden powder before?”
When everyone raises their hands, I feel something in my chest relax a little. “Good,” I say, feeling the ghost of a smile curve my lips. Because this might actually be an enjoyable morning for once. A morning where I can just feel the snow and movement and get lost in the sport I used to love.
“Then let’s ride. I’ll watch you and offer up some tips if I think you need it…” I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh, because who am I kidding? The saying “no friends on powder days” is even truer with students, and the chances of me stopping to offer up tips on a morning like this is low at best.
“Just enjoy yourselves, and meet me at the base of Jupiter lift. We’ll try to get as many fresh tracks as we can before the tourists arrive.”
Thirty minutes. I suspect that’s how long we have before they open up for general admission. Then another twenty minutes after that before the muppets start making their way up to the top of the mountain and destroy all the fresh snow by sideslipping and snowplowing all over the place.
“Try to keep up,” I say, flicking my board up in a little half-ollie so that I’m pointed downhill, the nose of my board hanging over the lip of the cat track. “I’ll meet you at the bottom.”
And then I’m off, the excited whoops of my students falling away, drowned out by the whisper of powder under my board. There must be at least a foot of fresh snow, and I lean back, settling my weight on my back foot to keep the nose of my board from diving under.
Each turn is like flying, like falling, like being cut free of every expectation I’ve ever had of myself. I float past heavily laden pines, their emerald boughs dripping with fresh snow. Past fallen aspens, their white bark smooth from riders who have used them as natural rails. Above me, the clouds part, blue peeking through in hopeful little patches.
